


A Difficult Subject

by SpaceIdiot



Category: Sherlock Holmes (Rathbone films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Watson is a bit of a slut, everyone is a little bi, moriarty is a bit of a voyeur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:41:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23804047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceIdiot/pseuds/SpaceIdiot
Summary: The Woman in Green alternate scene - what if the 'hypnotizing' had been a little... different?
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Female character, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	A Difficult Subject

**Author's Note:**

> It does sort of contain non con? But it's not rape either, I dunno I just wanted to be safe and not trigger anyone.
> 
> I have totally different sexual headcanons for every single version of Holmes, and my personal one for Basil Rathbone's Holmes goes something like him never bothering to think twice about sex/masturbation until he discovers how good it feels, and then, well... ;)
> 
> I always thought the hypnotization scene in The Woman in Green was just so sexually charged I just... like this has been in my head since I was 14 and I'm finally getting to it now that I'm not a prude and a homophobe anymore (yey character development)

It had never been difficult for Sherlock Holmes to flirt. When he invited her to have a cocktail at Pembrook House she seemed to be responding very nicely.  
“I thought a little pick-me-up would do us good,” he said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs.  
“You mean that you thought I looked-”  
“I like the way you look,” he smiled, taking a sip of his drink.  
She smiled. Yes, things were going exactly as he wanted them to. Especially when he got her to believe he was interested in her skill as a hypnotist. It was absurdly easy, he couldn’t help but think, and she was inviting him back to her house in no time. This was exactly where he wanted to be. He knew she was connected to Moriarty. How, exactly, he hadn’t quite figured out, but he thought an evening with her would be ample time to find out.  
He hesitated slightly when she offered drugs to aid in the hypnotism. Drugs had always been, well, a weakness of his. He’d been clean for several years now, and he didn’t particularly like the idea of them getting a hand on him again. But she believed him a difficult subject, and seemed unlikely to proceed without them.  
“We don’t have to do this at all, you know,” she said, turning.  
“Wait a minute.” That may have been a bit too sharp. “Wait a minute.” This time was more gentle. Sensual, even.  
She turned back and looked at him, a smile playing around her lips. She held the little pill box open to him.  
He smiled. “Alright, I’ll take a chance.” He pulled two pills out of the box. As she went to get him a glass of water, he carefully swapped the pills with the ones he had brought. He was glad he was prepared. He slipped the pills into his mouth, and swallowed them with the offered water. He looked at her under heavy lidded eyes.  
“Thank you.”  
She guided him to the sofa. He crossed his legs and folded his arms. A defence mechanism. Despite everything he’d tried to do otherwise, he knew he was not in control of this situation. He had to remain on guard. She spoke to them, her voice low and smooth. His eyelids felt heavy and his breath came in long, slow draughts. She ran a finger, carefully, gently, over the back of his neck. Something that would normally have awoken his senses, he now had to fight to dull.  
Her voice hummed. “Steady - deep - strong.”  
His eyes were almost closed. He felt her hand slip onto his knee, putting gentle pressure on his leg so that she pushed his legs apart. He stared unblinking at the flower in the bowl of water in front of him. What the hell...  
“Strange, isn’t it?” she said. Her hand slipped between his legs. He couldn’t stop his mouth from opening.  
“That’s it,” she said. “Allow yourself to feel. Think of nothing but the movement of my hand.”  
Much to his chagrin, he didn't need any encouragement. His breath came quicker now as she massaged him through his trousers. What was this? What was happening. His mind reeled. He hadn’t ever thought - no wonder the men were so remice to admit they had been here, if this was her method. That was, perhaps, the last rational thought he had for quite some time. His head slumped back on the sofa, his eyes sinking shut.  
“Focus on the steady rhythm,” she encouraged.  
He couldn’t think. Did he like this? Or… he’d never felt anything like it. Never had any idea that - his breath caught as she broke contact and he let out a half moan. Shit. That wasn’t supposed to have happened.  
“Quiet, quiet,” she breathed. “Patience.”  
What did that mean, he wondered. He was struggling to ignore the aching between his legs. He had to focus. Keep up the facade. Make sure she thought - his mind felt like it had taken a holiday. He couldn’t think. What was - he felt her fiddling with his belt and then his trouser buttons. He couldn’t open his eyes, snap to alert like his brain told him he should. His body, though, sang a different tune. Her hand slipped into his pants. His mouth fell open, panting. His back arched.  
“Gentle, gentle,” she hummed. “Lay back. Focus your mind on me. Feel - allow yourself to revel in every sensation.”  
He tried to breathe steadily, his chest rising and falling in a similar rhythm to her hand over his skin. Up and down, slowly, slowly. A faint sigh escaped his lips. Something inside him wanted her to go faster. Without even meaning to, his hips bucked against her motion.  
“Steady,” she said. She bent down, holding him steady, and -  
“Oh, God...” He couldn’t stop the words from spilling out of his lips as he felt her mouth encompass the head of his prick. She hummed a note of laughter, her head bobbing up and down. He gasped for breath. Never, never in his life had he even imagined something like this. To feel this way, the pure, animalistic sensation, to want more - more. She sat back and began to stroke him again.  
“You’re close now, Mr. Holmes,” she said.  
Close? Close to - oh. His breath suddenly caught, his head thrown back and his mouth open. With a faint shiver, he came across his trousers. He could only have described the following sensation laying back onto a soft bed, a cold white sheet falling over your skin. His eyes flickered open, then shut. He suddenly remembered what the hell he was supposed to be doing here. Moriarty. Moriarty! If she was indeed part of his gang as he thought - heaven forbid he saw what had just happened. He felt her tuck him back into his trousers and buckle his belt. His breath was even now, his eyes still closed, his arms limp at his sides. She smiled and stood, nodding towards the curtain which separated her sitting room from her bedroom. The curtain parted and two men walked forward.  
“Here he is, Professor Moriarty,” she said, a smile playing around her lips. “Stand up, Mr. Holmes,” she said.  
He did. His eyes were still closed, his face void. His arms fell limp at his sides.  
“Open your eyes.”  
He did. His heart was pounding. Everything, all of it, Moriarty had seen, heard it all.  
“Face this way.”  
Again, he followed her instruction.  
“Are you satisfied?” she asked, looking at her employer.  
Moriarty raised an eyebrow. “With any other man, I don’t know,” he said slowly, walking up to Holmes and looking him up and down. “But with Mr. Holmes - his reputation as a bachelor with no intentions is not one that I have missed. I do not think he would have allowed you to do that if he were not hypnotized.”  
“I’m glad you’re happy,” she smiled. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to freshen up.”  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He sat in the back of the cab, beat red, with heart pounding. Good God, he was lucky to have gotten out of there before Moriarty or his crew said anything of what had happened. He thanked heaven that everyone he knew, particularly Lestrade and Watson, had a very different idea of hypnotization than what he had experienced. It was hard enough not to act a fool knowing it himself. He retreated to his bedroom the moment he got home, his mind unable to escape thoughts of what had happened. He had done many things in his life, he thought, but never anything like that. Despite having gone to an all boys school throughout his younger years and then into university, he had somehow completely missed the art of self pleasure. His penis had always been something of an annoyance to him. It got in the way of things and made certain disguises more difficult. Not to mention that it was a prime subject for the feet and knees of disgruntled criminals. But now as he sat on his bed and rubbed his hand between his legs - the feeling was addicting. She hadn’t gotten him back on drugs like she’d tried, but she had certainly hooked him on something else.  
He felt himself getting hard. When he’d unbuttoned his trousers he quickly discovered that his hands were not nearly as skilled as hers had been. He closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation of his smooth palm gliding up and down his member. He began breathing faster, biting his lip, thinking, trying to remember the way her hand had moved in an attempt to mimic it.  
There was a sudden sound at his door.  
“Holmes, I-”  
Holmes scrambled for a pillow to cover himself as Watson pushed open the door. The other man looked him up and down for a moment, blinking. Holmes sat bolt upright on his bed, a pillow shoved between his legs, red faced and breathing heavily.  
“I say,” Watson half grinned. “Well, I didn’t know you went in for that sort of thing.”  
“What - sort of thing?” Holmes snapped. “What - I don’t know what you’re talking about!”  
“My dear Holmes,” Watson said. “I like to think I’m a man of the world, and I am not unaware of that downfall of all men that my old nurse used to call “Dragging thyself to hell, one hand's breadth at a time.”  
Holmes did not find his erection fading. “I - wh-ah….” his voice faded.  
“Here,” Watson said, walking forwards, “You look unfinished. Let me help.”  
Holmes stared wide-eyed as Watson - his Watson - knelt before him, gently pulling the pillow away. There was a raise of an eyebrow and a fait chuckle as he saw the width and breadth of his companions manhood. He put his hand around the head of the shaft, slowly moving his hands up and down, gently massaging it. In a moment his mouth was around it, taking the whole length in his mouth. Holmes clenched the sheets, gasping.  
“Watson, I…”  
Watson looked up at him. The look in his eyes was like nothing Holmes had ever seen before. His sweet, bumbling Watson - now the hunger in his eyes was anything but sweet, the deftness of his fingers and mouth, anything but bumbling. Holmes came undone in moments, reduced to a gasping, writhing shiver under the other man’s skilled hands.  
“Good God, Waston,” Holmes breathed when Watson had finished his work on him. “Where the devil did you learn that?”  
Watson smiled, wiping his mouth. “I was a soldier, Holmes. One had desires, and one got them satisfied however they could.”  
“I - see.” Holmes cleared his throat. “Well, ahem… thank you,” he said, tucking himself back into his trousers.  
“My pleasure,” Watson smiled, getting up off the ground with a grunt.  
Holmes half chuckled. He couldn’t say he was used to being the less experienced one in any of his interactions with his friend - friend? Could he still quite call him that?  
Watson stopped right before he left the room, turning and looking at Holmes. “You may not think me very good at things,” he said, “But you can’t deny, I’m rather good at that.”


End file.
